


Passionflower

by vivalamusaine



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Background Les Amis de l'ABC, Blood and Injury, Dark Magic, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Magic, Multi, Neighbors, Other, POV Alternating, Past Violence, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:22:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24032722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivalamusaine/pseuds/vivalamusaine
Summary: When Montparnasse gets a new neighbour, his only concern is keeping his sleeping schedule uninterrupted and his illegal witchcraft hidden from prying eyes, but Jehan is the cookie giving, balcony chatting, loud dressing kind of neighbour, that seems to always be there.But when Montparnasse lands bloody and injured on Jehan’s balcony, secrets can’t stay hidden for long.In a world where witches must be listed on a government registry and dark magick runs wild in the underground of Paris, two neighbours find each other.Modern Magic/Urban Fantasy AU
Relationships: Montparnasse/Jean Prouvaire
Comments: 15
Kudos: 29





	1. Neighbour

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a short one shot but I couldn't stop writing it.

Being woken up by a loud noise was not Montparnasse’s idea of a perfect Sunday morning, especially when the alternative would have been peacefully slumbering for at least the next five hours. 

_7.13am_

Dear God, why? He groaned as he rolled over, closing his eyes once more and pressing his face against his pillowcase. At least he wasn’t awake enough to stay up, as long as he could fall back to sleep...

_Bang._

“For fuck’s sake! What is that old bat doing now?” 

He’d always been a light sleeper, a blessing for the times he had to be kept on his toes, but a curse for his personal life. Now his elderly neighbor was probably falling down the stairs or something. He supposed he should go check on her, or if she wasn’t hurt at the very least go tell her to shut up. 

The last week had been tough on Montparnasse, he’d gotten a combined 13 hours of sleep over the last 6 days. It did no favours to his temper, grumbling as he threw on his black silk robe and not bothering with the modesty of tying it together, Montparnasse made his way to his front door, throwing it open more dramatically than necessary. 

“Some of us have alternative sleep schedules, Dorothy!” Montparnasse said exasperated as the door swung open, but he was not greeted with the aged face of his usual neighbour. No, standing before him was a large, muscular man wearing a ‘ _Cats the Musical_ ’ tee shirt and the bright red hair of someone crouching behind a vintage dresser.

“You’re not Dorothy.” Montparnasse said frowning.

“No, but Bahorel did play her in a high school rendition of Wizard of Oz.” The voice from behind the dresser said. 

“Role of a lifetime.” The man- Bahorel, he assumed- said smiling proudly. “Sorry about the noise, moving day. Jehan thought they could handle the dresser by themselves.”

The red hair had a name, Jehan, and as they rose and turned to introduce themselves to him, Montparnasse was greeted with a wide sunshine smile, much too bright for so early in the morning. Their face was spattered with large freckles, and their bright outfit looked as though it could have been thrown together by a thrift store spinster, with a clashing patchwork fabric skirt, polka dot tights, and knock off doc martens. He felt almost blinded by the sight of them.

“In my defense, it wasn’t too heavy for me, I just tripped on the stairs.” 

Montparnasse seriously doubted this considering his new neighbours' small frame. 

“So, you’ll be taking over the infamous 313, then.” Montparnasse said pointing to the apartment next to him, the one that _used to_ belong to his Dorothy. Someone her age, well it didn’t take a genius to put together where she went without any notice. “For your sake, I hope she’s not haunting it.”

Jehan smiled politely. “For my sake I hope she is.”

_Be careful what you wish for_. Montparnasse thought grouchily, if he had any sort of talent for summoning spirits he’d make do on his new neighbours wish, just for some petty revenge for the early wake up call. Dismissing them with a half-hearted wave he went back into his apartment, closing the door behind him.

“Dude’s mighty ‘comfortable’ with his neighbours to be walking around like that.” He heard the muffled voice of Bahorel say outside of the door followed by a hurried shushing.   
  
Looking down at his untied robe and exposed boxers Montparnasse suppressed a frustrated sigh and made his way back into his bedroom. It wouldn’t be the last time he made a terrible first impression on his neighbours. At least this time it was just indecent exposure and not something he left within view of his door that was not exactly illegal. An intrusive memory of a small basement apartment interrupted his thoughts, sirens in the distance, fungi and vines overtaking the door, a woman screaming, a knife. He shuddered. He’d never be careless enough to make that mistake again.

He drifted back to sleep with difficulty, awaking as the sun was setting outside of his window. His phone told him it was almost 9.00PM, and that he had a package delivered. Somehow even with the excess of sleep, he felt more tired than he had this morning. After tearing himself out of bed and making an espresso, he sauntered over to his doorstep to retrieve his package. He vaguely remembered a time when getting mail had been exciting, now it just felt like habit and work. 

Opening his door he was greeted by an inconspicuous brown box, with only his address and no return label, there was nothing out of the ordinary about this, but the package next to it… Bending down, Montparnasse picked up the Tupperware container and looked around the hallway, before carefully and suspiciously opening the folded brown note taped to the lid.

_Sorry for waking you up_ . _Your neighbour- Jehan Prouvaire._

The neat, cursive writing didn’t look as though it belonged to a millennial, it seemed like it would be at home in an centuries old recipe book. Speaking of which, Montparnasse opened the lid of the container to find three large cookies inside. He debated placing them back on his neighbours doorstep, he didn’t like overly friendly neighbours and their tendency to stick their noses into his business. 

_The sirens are coming closer, the vines are sprouting, you can’t stop them in time, she’s seen, she’s screaming, he’s pulling out a knife_.

“They’re not poison you know.” Jehan’s voice snapped Montparnasse out of his thoughts abruptly. He looked over to his neighbour to see Jehan in a long floral coat closing the door behind them.

“I know that.” Montparnasse said defensively.

Jehan smiled at him as they fumbled in their pockets for their keys, pulling them out and locking it.

“I’ve never seen somebody eye a cookie that suspiciously before, like the chocolate chips could jump out and bite you at any moment.”

“Allergies.” He invented quickly. “Milk. I was trying to work out if they were raisins or chips, you said chocolate?”

“Completely vegan and dairy free.” Jehan beamed proudly. 

“Oh, well I guess that’s fine then.” _Damnit._ More to end the conversation than anything he took a bite of the cookie in his hand, the texture was more crumbly than chewy but he was surprised at just how much he liked the taste. He fixed Jehan with an approving look. “They’re good. You’re forgiven.” 

Jehan laughed at this. A loud, high pitched crescendo that filled the empty hall with an echo that made it seem twice as large as the room. Montparnasse wasn’t sure what kind of laugh he had expected but certainly not something so attention grabbing. Jehan shot their hand up in a quick waving motion before headed down the stairs.

_I wonder…_

They certainly had an otherworldly presence about them, a niche ethereal charm. Heading back into his apartment, Montparnasse carefully placed the package and the container on his kitchen bench before opening his laptop and a secure browser. Typing in the website was muscle memory for him, but still, every time he saw the familiar government screen he felt a wave of anxiousness flood over him, as though all seeing eyes were watching him, tracking him.

_Witches Register._

_Are you_ _Adenia Digitata? Not being registered after showing magical prowess is a federal offence. Register now or face-_

Ignoring the text scroll and clicking on the bright blue “Search Registrar” tab at the top of the screen, Montparnasse began typing.

_Jehan Prouvaire._

**No results found. Do you believe this name should be registered? Contact our investigative department with any tips about unregistered witches.**

“Snitches.” Montparnasse sneered as he pushed the computer away. It seemed as though his neighbour was just another friendly weirdo. They seriously doubted somebody who dressed like that was a member of the underground. He sighed as he moved his attention to the unopened package on the counter. No use putting off work any longer.

The items in the package seemed pretty standard. Herbs, quartz, personal effects valerian root, wormwood, skullcap- until he reached a tied bag with a hand scribbled label. Frowning, Montparnasse grabbed his phone and dialed. 

“‘Lo?”

“What the hell is this?”

“A job. Do you want it or not?” Gueulemer’s voice was raspy and annoyed.

“ _Hellhound ashes_?” Montparnasse ignored Gueulemer’s question, putting emphasis on his own..

“It was his _dog's_ name. Not ash from an actual hellhound. He cremated the thing last week.”

“What’s his name?” Montparnasse asked suspiciously, pulling his laptop towards him.

“Hellhound. On the vets papers and everythi-”

“No, the client!”

“Jean-Pierre Charpentière- born 1968.” Gueulemer replied, Montparnasse typed the name into the registry, scrolling until he found the match. “Showed me the collar with the dogs name and everything. I checked him out. He’s clean.”

“Okay.” Montparnasse said slowly after reading through the registrar notes. According to the site he hadn’t even been active in magick since the 80’s, he was currently a bank manager- no wonder he needed the help. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Good, he wants it tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night?!” He asked incredulously, looking at time. “It has to steep under a midnight moon!” 

“Then you’d better get started.” The familiar goodbye of the dial tone didn’t help but flare his temper. 

_Bank managers should not be allowed to name their pets anything other than Fido and Spot._ He thought bitterly as he opened up the ashes.

* * *

Like many of his neighbours, Montparnasse liked to think of his fire escape as his balcony, it was a nice area to have a smoke, get some fresh air, and have a few outdoor decorations. It was decidedly not however a comfortable place to sit all night and watch a potion. It didn’t help that when he brought out a pillow for his back, being sore from sitting on hard metal for hours, it had fallen into the street when he’d stood up to stretch. 

Not risking his nights efforts being spoiled by sunlight, Montparnasse took the mixture inside before going down to retrieve it. A wise decision it turned out to be, as the moment he had gotten back inside, dawn was beginning to carve out a new day on the horizon. Walking wearily back out to the fire escape, he gathered up a few of the items he’d left scattered in his potion making. 

“You’re up early.” The cheerful voice to his left made him jump, looking over to his neighbours he saw the bright and happy face of Jehan Prouvaire in between a jungle of leaves and flowers.

“I haven’t been to bed yet.” He yawned, leaning his arms on the railing. “Changing that soon, though.”

“Well if you hear voices from my balcony it’s just me jamming with my plants. I won’t be long though, so as not to owe you more cookies.” 

“You sing to them?” Montparnasse queried with an amused tone.

“Oh no!” Jehan replied with a small, self conscious laugh. It was smaller than the last one he had heard from them, but still all the more attention grabbing. “They would shrivel up within a week if I subjected them to that.” 

They gave a small pot of aloe vera a spray of water, looking at it fondly as one might look to a pet or a child. 

“I play music for them and recite some poetry.” Tucking a strand of hair behind their ear they smiled abashedly, looking away from Montparnasse. “Sometimes we just talk to one another. It’s quite pleasant.”

“Can’t say I can imagine a peace lily being a great conversationalist.” Montparnasse teased with a tired grin.

“They’re quite good secret keepers, you know.”

“Generally I find things that don’t speak are.”

Jehan looked up at him, a pink blush growing on their freckled cheeks. 

“You’re making fun of me.” Jehan’s tone was more resigned than accusatory, and their smile remained unflinchingly kind on their face, although it was no longer reaching their eyes.

“I’m not-”

“No, it’s okay. Really.” Jehan said quickly, something about their tone was offputtingly bubbly, as though they had flipped a switch from genuine conversation to talking to a difficult customer on autopilot. “Not a lot of people get me, and that’s fine.”

Montparnasse wasn’t quite sure what to say, he usually didn’t entertain people that were practically strangers for this long, but there was something about Jehan that drew him into wanting to know more. 

“Well, a lot of people are idiots. So if they don’t get you, you’re probably doing something right.”

Jehan looked up at him, and it was only then when the early morning sunlight caught the specks in their cinnamon eyes that Montparnasse noticed the details of them. He knew they were searching him, looking for something deep within him, and it was the exact type of situation he could have avoided if he’d thrown away the container of cookies.

“Well goodnight - or morning.” Montparnasse said quickly as he rushed inside. He had about 15 hours before he had to drop off the potion to the client, and he didn’t want to waste them being vexed by neighbourly chats.

He would just need to try to avoid them in future. 

* * *

_He’s late._

That’s never a good sign. Montparnasse didn’t trust most people, but he especially didn’t trust 9-5 bank managers that were late. The first sign of a deal going wrong was someone making you wait. It didn’t help his paranoia that he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being followed the entire journey here. He might not have been this on edge if their last drop off point wasn’t raided last week. Babet still hadn’t made bail, and Gueulemer was insisting on in person exchanges until he said otherwise. Montparnasse hated it. If he wanted uncomfortable exchanges with clients he would have applied at a call center.

“Over here!” The overly cheery disposition of the voice made him inwardly sigh before turning around. Approaching him was a smiling man with a bad comb over in a cheap coat. He was grinning ear to ear as he came up to Montparnasse and grabbed his hand unexpectedly, shaking it with glee.   
  
He pulled his hand away in distaste, whatever disgust was showing on his face the man apparently hadn’t noticed.

“-just can’t thank you enough. Been out of practise for so long, my wife says I could learn to mix a drink before a potion, and I've been sober for ten years.”

“Yeah, umm… You paid upfront, right?” Montparnasse said uneasily, pulling out the small flask from his coat and handing it over to him. He’d never wanted to get away from somebody so quickly in his life.

“I can’t wait to have him back, even for just a day.” The man said as he uncorked the bottle, bringing the potion close to his nose. “Would you like to stay to meet him?”

Montparnasse shrugged, keeping his expression apathetic. A cold breeze had started blow in from the east, and he was eager to take a few wrong turns on his way home, the sooner he was away from this creep the sooner he could shake whatever was nagging at the back of his mind. The last thing he needed was to get distracted by some loser’s family pet.

“I don’t care much for dogs.” he lied as he moved past the client and began to walk out of the alley. 

“Oh, but he’d love you.” 

He heard glass shatter behind him.

There it was, a shiver, the hairs standing up on the back of his neck, the anxious sensation at the back of his mind crescendoing into panic.

Before he could turn around he knew what had transpired, but it still couldn’t prepare him for the sight of a shadow beast rising from the concrete below. It rose with the wind, half shadow, half fog taking the form of a large rabid dog- _hellhound._

_Gueulemer you incompetent_ _bastard._ His heart hammering in his chest as he turned on his heel. Hurriedly reaching into the chest pocket of his coat as he ran, Montparnasse’s hands fumbled for the familiar cylindrical flask he kept for emergencies, he never thought he’d need to actually use it. A cold breeze suddenly wrapped around his ankles, the fog beneath him turned thick and solid, and before Montparnasse could prepare himself he tripped, falling hard, face first onto the concrete path below. Hot blood filled his mouth and before he could reach the flask that lay before him on the ground, a searing sudden pain tore through his leg as the entity bit. He let out an anguished yell. The bank manager was laughing now.

Hurriedly grabbing at the flask he bit open the lid and threw the liquid at the form. It let out a shocked howl and retreated just long enough for Montparnasse to get on his feet and run. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, blood dripping down his leg, the frenzied yells of the man telling the hellhound to hunt him down. The chase was a blur, as he somehow made it to the back of his apartment building. 

His head was pounding, his cheek stung as the cold breeze following him became stronger, and each step he took climbing up the fire escape sent a shooting pain down his left leg, but he knew he had precious little time to get away from this entity. If being drenched in something as strong as the actiniaria potion was only a minor inconvenience for it, he stood no chance. Tearing his eyes away from the empty street below him, Montparnasse looked up towards the balcony, and was terrified to see the large jungle of plants above him. 

_Wrong fire escape._

There was no time to climb back down, he’d have to chance a jump from Jehan’s balcony to his own and hope against hope that they wouldn’t wake up and come face to face with the beast. The last thing he wanted was for the unsuspecting neighbour to be dragged to hell for his own mistake. 

Stumbling over a large pot of agapanthus, his foot caught the hook on the balcony, causing the plant to tumble down on him with a large crash. Montparnasse coughed as soil slipped through the grates to the ground beneath him. So much for a graceful escape, he thought bitterly, as the wind around him became bitterly cold. 

“Don’t come out.” He willed silently to Jehan’s pitch black window as his panting became heavier, and the pounding in his head hammered so painfully that his vision began to blur. He hoped he would pass out before the entity drained him of his life, if only so he would go quietly into the night. It would be better to leave a gorgeous corpse with a mysterious death than to have his last moments be seen sputtering and gasping for life. 

Beginning to shiver, his fingers froze together, his legs were locked in place and he felt his tongue go heavy in his mouth, even if he had something else up his sleeve, he would be physically incapable of moving to use it. _This is it_. He thought, staring up at the stars above him, the canopy of leaves surrounding the balcony providing a picturesque vision. If he ever came back from the spirit world in another form, he’d have to remember to thank Jehan for the view.

As he lay frozen and powerless, the stars were overtaken by a thick smog above him, spinning and whirling until it formed a solid mass, stretching out above him like fingers ebbing closer. That’s when he heard it, the leaves on the plants surrounding him began to shake and move. The hurried noises of leaves against the wind seemed almost like whispers in the night. Suddenly, a bright cloud of pollen burst out, and the entity above him squealed like a banshee, dissipating, retreating from his sight.   
  
As his fingers regained feeling, and his heart rate slowed he couldn’t hold on anymore, and as he closed his eyes from the pain loudly threatening his head, he saw a dark silhouette emerge on the fire escape. What had saved him?

_Bunny slippers_ -

That was the only thing his foggy mind was able grasp onto, before he closed his eyes and only saw darkness.

* * *

_Lavender._

He wasn’t conscious, not quite yet anyway. But Montparnasse’s nose began to tingle at the scent.

_Chamomile._

Something cold and damp was dripping down his brow, and a low tune was playing, it sounded so distant, as though he was hearing it through a seashell. Was that language singing latin or italian?

What was the last scent? It was strong, but not strong enough for him to quite grasp-

_Cayenne Pepper. Of course._ All herbs combined could create a simple yet effective mixture that when activated by an enchantment could break a hex, grant protection and assist in healing. Typically this kind of remedy would only work on minor issues, and judging by the dull pain in his cheek and the odd angle that his leg was propped up, he would need something much stronger if he wanted to walk anytime soon. _Maybe it’s just incense_. 

Slowly opening his eyes and allowing them to adjust to the low light in the room, Montparnasse began to take his surroundings into account. The patchwork quilt over his legs, the second hand blue velvet couch he was laying on, a lot of dog eared books piled upon each other on a cherrywood coffee table, tarot cards, candles, a stained mortar and pestle, there were boxes in the corner labelled and presumably unpacked. The odd mixture of tacky and artsy decor and second hand trinkets made the overall aesthetic of the room hard to pin down and define. The only word that was currently coming to his foggy mind was kitsch, but he wasn’t sure if there was anything ironic about the pieces in the room.

He would have to leave, now. How was he going to explain what had happened without finding himself in more trouble than he started off in? He could try to make a run for it, but he wasn’t sure his leg could carry him far. And then what? Call Claq and ask for another dead of night safe house to be found? He owed them enough favours as it was… Maybe he could persuade them not to talk to the cops, _if_ they had not already been called. As he was weighing up his options a tinkering of cutlery and footsteps alerted him to the presence entering the room. Montparnasse whipped his head around to see Jehan carrying a silver rusted tray and dressed in a tattered bed jacket with their long hair pulled back into a messy, sleep disturbed bun, a realization came to him in a crashing fury- the burst of pollen, the strange items around the apartment, the herbal remedy, the _fashion sense_. 

“You’re a witch.” Montparnasse breathed, his usual filter deadened by the pain in his head, now made greater by his sudden movement.

“So are you.” Jehan replied simply. They placed the tray down on the coffee table, on it stood an out of place looking large plastic bowl with a dark red liquid inside, next to another glass bowl with water and a cloth and an equally mismatched aqua chalice beside it.. 

Montparnasse stared at them in awe, how could somebody with the demeanour of a butterfly and the frame of a stick insect have possibly fought off a forbidden entity?

“You saved me from that thing?”

“Not exactly. My garden released a dormant protection spell when they sensed its presence, I’ve designed its activation to send me a tiny body alert, it feels just like a pinch. You are lucky I’m a light sleeper though, I don’t think the spell could have held until morning.”

“Your plants told you I was being attacked?” Montparnasse asked slowly, reaching for the damp cloth on his head and turning it over. The cold side pressing against his head allowed him a moment of relief from the dull pounding in his mind.

“Doesn’t seem so silly to talk to them now, does it?” Jehan smirked as they sprinkled pine needles into the mixture within the bowl.

“You’re not on the registry, Jehan Prouvaire.” Montparnasse had tried to sound audacious, hoping the knowledge would deter a call to authorities, but as he said their words aloud a sharp shooting pain went down his leg and he tensed drawing sharp breath through his teeth, making the would be knowledge sound several implications short of blackmail.

“No.” Jehan replied simply, dipping a crystal chalice into the bowl. “Neither are you.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to be within the company of a fellow Passionflower.” Montparnasse said, lacing his voice with only the faintest touch of cynicism. If extortion was off the table perhaps comradery was his best best.

Jehan pressed their lips together tightly at the word, but said nothing in protest of it. The reaction was not uncommon, he knew people that hated the word, people that had reclaimed it and used it affectionately amongst one another, he’d even on occasion had fellow witches use the word against him as an insult. Most however, acted as Jehan had done, looking slightly uncomfortable that it was there but pretending to ignore it. Somebody who had a better grasp of words than he might have been able to find a metaphor in that for himself. 

“If other witches want some balding suit who hates his wife to watch their every move, that's their prerogative.” Montparnasse continued, a bitterness he was unable to hide leapt out of his tone. He sat up with some difficulty as Jehan handed him the cup. “It’s nobody's business what I do.”

“Business such as summoning an entity?” Jehan asked, their faux innocent tone had a sharp accusation which lingered on the tip of their tongue.

“Listen, I don’t mess with that shit, if that’s what you’re implying.I just sold a potion, how was I supposed to know what that bastard was going to do with it?.” 

“I suppose that’s the situation when a registry would help.” Jehan said with a sigh. “Drink.”

Montparnasse hesitated as he looked down into the cup, he’d made a promise to himself many years ago to never drink a potion he hadn’t mixed himself, but his neighbour had just saved his life, it seemed like it would be a lot of wasted energy to do so just to poison him. Montparnasse looked towards Jehan and decided to take his chances.He took a tentative sip, and just as expected, it tasted awful- which meant that it was working. Throwing his head back he downed the rest and feeling a mixture of cold and hot shivers down his body, pins and needles gripped his toes and fingers, and he took several deep breaths as his muscles tightened and relaxed, reacting to the potions properties.

  
  


“My friend Joly recommended a spell to use in tandem.” Jehan said, holding a pair of fabric scissors in one hand and gently flipping over the quilt resting on his injured leg, upon catching the worried look on Montparnasse’s face, they smiled and quickly added. “I told him I found an injured cat. May I?” 

He nodded tersely, looking at the dried blood and the ugly angle his leg was protruding, he didn’t seem to have a choice, he would have to mourn in private for the loss of his favourite pleated trousers. Jehan’s hands felt warm as they held the edge of the pant leg steady and glided the scissors over the fabric. Montparnasse turned his head away as Jehan parted the cut fabric, he had seen much worse injuries, but usually not on his own body. Their sudden touch on the fractured leg made Montparnasse wince in pain. 

“It’s going to feel worse before it feels better.” Jehan apologized with a wince, before clearing their throat and reciting their borrowed spell. “ _Ignis auferat ill salutem sanitatem hodie hic._ ”

It was short and to the point, as most spells should be, and as he felt a hot warmth from their fingertips flow through his body, just as promised the pain arrived in brute form. The agonizing feeling of his bone moving inside of his body back to its proper place was slow and excruciating. He closed his eyes and tried to suppress struggled groans and gasps of pain as the heat surrounding his leg began to make him sweat. Finally, as his body relaxed and the spell cooled he was able to regain some of his composure. 

“So, why aren’t you registered?” Montparnasse said after he had steadied his breathing, He needed a distraction from the aching discomfort in his leg. Magick could speed up and improve on the healing process, but some pain would always remain. Besides it felt too strange to sit in silence whilst somebody else mopped dried blood from his leg. “Are you a backdoor healer? Tend to the broken bones and stab wounds of the mob on the down low?”

Jehan chuckled, wringing out the stained red cloth into the glass bowl. “Nothing that dramatic. I don’t usually heal much at all actually, I’m just very fortunate to have dear doctors for friends. I mostly hold seances and speak to spirits of past lives. Dorothy dropped in by the way.” 

“You poor thing.” Montparnasse felt himself smile at the thought of his two strange neighbours sharing gossip. 

“I suppose I could register, go through the process, only get infractions on the rarest occasions, if ever...” Jehan mused with an odd expression. The pause that followed was long, and for a moment, Montparnasse wondered if Jehan had gotten so lost within their own thoughts that they’d forgotten the question, just as he was about to change the subject, Jehan continued. 

“I’m morally opposed to the registry. My inaction is a form of protest.”

“So, you’re not even doing anything illegal, you’re following witchcraft ‘ _as it was intended to be_ ’ and yet you’d risk incarceration for the _principle_ of it all?” Montparnasse let out a low whistle. “At least do something dangerous if you’re off the grid.”

“Seeing what living dangerously has done to your leg, I think I’m good. Thank you.”

As much as he would have liked to, Montparnasse could not argue with that. He watched in silence as Jehan placed the empty chalice, stained red cloth and bowl back onto the tray. Rolling up their bed jackets sleeves, they moved to pick it up. That’s when he saw it; Like scattered lightning, white, thin scars cascaded over Jehan’s arm, mimicking their veins. Montparnasse bolted up in a panic.

“Your arm, it got you!” 

If it had gotten into Jehan’s blood then it was still here, it was still hunting him, had they been possessed this whole time? Prepping him for death? _poisoning_ him? He felt his throat go tight as he watched Jehan set the tray back down and pull the edges of their sleeve back down. 

“That’s not from tonight.” Jehan replied with a guarded voice, and as they said as much, his mind slowed down and his rational thoughts began to connect the dots. 

“Oh.”

Those were _white_ scars, a sign of long dead magick, and when they’d been exposed they had remained static and still, not pulsing and spreading throughout their veins. He felt himself relax against his pillow. He knew he should probably apologize for bringing them to attention, but apologies had never been his strong suit.

“You should stay tonight.” Jehan said changing the subject quickly. “I’ve cast a stronger protective spell on both doors. I also removed your mark of death, but it might take a while for the effects to wear off.”

“Mark of death?!” 

“On your hand.” Jehan said pointing. “It was pretty sloppily done but it seemed to be doing the job.”

_The handshake_. Son of a bitch. This is why he hated corporate types.

“No. I’m not going to drag you into this any further. I’ll go now and start-”

“Stay.” Jehan insisted with a firm yet worried tone. Even in their insistence they were kind. “You’ll pass out again before you make it to your door.”

Montparnasse fixed them with a determined glare, but Jehan’s stubborn eyes were unwavering. 

“Fine.” He sighed resignedly. “But only because-”

“Goodnight.” Jehan interrupted, turning on their heel and exiting through the kitchen. 

Montparnasse sighed, leaning his head against his pillow. Finding out his neighbour was a witch whilst being chased by a forbidden entity was not how he’d envisioned his night to go. What was he going to do now? Move again? It was probably the smartest option. On the other hand, living next to another witch, an unregistered one at that, could have its advantages. Sure, Jehan had claimed to not do anything unfavourable, but what kind of witch would risk the consequences of being unregistered without using the advantages? Nobody’s morals were that concrete, and whether they had turned over a new leaf and were acting clean now, their past must have held some dark secrets. Their scars told a story, and that story involved dark magick.

_What are you hiding Prouvaire?_

Whatever it was, Montparnasse finally knew what had been drawing him in, and he was determined to find out more.

  
  
  
  



	2. Cunning Kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan is determined to find out more about what happened the night before when Montparnasse crashed onto their balcony, causing worry and concern amongst their friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was delayed by life itself. Apologies for the wait. 
> 
> Also- POV Switch!
> 
> Let me know what you think, I have a lot of fun writing this so I'd love to know if you want more.

There was no escaping the strange, unplaceable aura in Jehan’s bedroom as they slid inside and closed the door behind them. Letting out a sigh that rocked the tension in their shoulders, Jehan gathered their thoughts, sitting on the edge of their bed, begging to be taken by the warmth within their woven duvet and curl themselves into a cushion cocoon. But there was still work left to do before they drifted into a secret world of dreams and forgot about the man lying bleeding on their couch just outside of the bedroom door. They sighed again, looking towards the jet black phone case and the phone that it encompassed. Morntparnasse’s phone. They had a hunch by the time they woke by the morning that he’d already be long gone, but they had a plan to bring him back to their apartment, one crafted under the cover of kindness. 

For a brief moment, they considered unlocking it and looking at the contents within for some kind of clue that he wasn’t so innocent in the events that had led him to wind up halfway to death's door on their fire escape. But they stopped themselves. Whatever secrets lay behind the surface, far be it for them to be the one cursed by a witches phone lock. Besides, Jehan was patient, it was one of their greatest virtues, if it took them a little bit of time and cunning to find the truth, so be it.

Instead, they picked up their own cell phone, opening the most recent messages to Combeferre’s name, and texting him a picture of the mark of death they’d snapped in a panic before Montparnasse had stirred. The picture wasn’t the best quality, they hadn’t wanted to linger too long, in case timing was a factor, they had instead been focused on removing it from Montparnasse’s palm. 

Combeferre was probably asleep by now, it was late - or early, and their own eyes burned and itched to close. Wherever the truth lay, it could wait until morning, and they dragged themselves into the warmth of a blanket's embrace.

* * *

Morning came with a grey cover of storm clouds threatening to burst. As they had predicted, Montparnasse was gone by the time they awoke, and had apparently left in a hurry. Jehan hummed to themselves as they picked up the blanket that had been strewn to the floor, and rearranged their couch cushions as though their neighbour had never been there at all. By the time they had showered and dressed, and prepared themselves a cup of matcha, Combeferre had awoken and replied to their text.

**Combeferre:**

9.40AM

That looks way too rushed to   
be actually effective, amatuer   
even. I doubt you have to worry   
about it working with such an   
indecipherable symbol. Please   
tell me you found this picture   
and didn’t take it?

Jehan considered lying for a moment, wondering how much discretion they owed Montparnasse, they looked over to their empty couch before replying.

Me:

**9.45am**

What if I told you it did work?

Jehan tapped their fingers against their mug, waiting for Combeferre’s reply, but when their phone buzzed on the counter he was calling instead. Jehan sighed, picking up their phone.

“Hi Ferre.”

“Is there something you need to tell me, Jehan?” Combeferre’s tone was a familiar balance of reserved and concerned. Never enough guilt to make you draw back into defensiveness, but just enough to make you want to spill your secrets.

“I have a new neighbour.” Jehan began. “They ran into some trouble last night.”

“I don’t think I need to tell you that a mark of death isn’t just trouble, Jehan.”

“I’m well aware.” Jehan replied, their words slightly biting. “All I need to know is what he’s potentially dealing with.”

Combeferre was quiet on the other end of the line. Even without a visual of their friend, somehow Jehan just knew that he was biting his lip and furrowing his brow.

“I’m not sure.” He said finally. “But maybe someone else we know does.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jehan said, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s probably nothing. Like you said- too amatuer to be any real threat.”

“Jehan-”

“I have to get going. Thanks for calling.” 

Before Combeferre had a chance to reply, Jehan had ended the call. An uncomfortable itch beneath their skin, they instinctively reached for the white scars on their arm, pushing up their sleeve to clasp a hand around them. It was a strange defense mechanism, pushing away those who only wanted to make sure they were safe. But the sounds of worry from their friends took them back to a time when they weren’t safe, where they were terrified, and if cutting them off meant not being back in that headspace for even a moment, then that’s what they needed to do. They could make amends to Combeferre in the form of baked goods and smiles later. For now they seeked only the company of those that protected them without words.

The air was cold and windy when Jehan stepped out onto the fire escape. They had done their best to hurry to pick up the fallen plants and recast their spells the night before, about with their uneven potting and broken leaves, they clearly needed some more care. It was only when they were tending to the soil that they noticed the curse that still lingered, ebbing away at the roots of the plants. 

“Oh my darlings,” Jehan lamented. “You worked so hard last night. I’m so sorry you’re hurting.”

It took over an hour to remove the last remnants of the curse, it seemed determined to stick, doubling and tripling in quantity with every removal that they cast. But Jehan worked with speed and precision, and eventually the curse had dissipated from the garden completely, and their flora looked just as rejuvenated as the day before. They re-casted the protecting spells once again for extra precaution and wiped their brow, Jehan tried not to be shaken by the strong magick that the beast had left behind, and the knowledge that if Montparnasse had climbed onto any other balcony, he’d be long dead by now. They looked over to their neighbours balcony, eerily still and silent, they wondered if he was even inside. A small part of them hoping they’d emerge from the door and speak to them again, even if they completely ignored everything that had happened the night before.

Jehan wasn’t surprised to see the missed calls that awaited them when they came back inside. Their group had never been good at keeping secrets, and they smiled before placing a call to Enjolras. Tasking themselves with a curse removal had been a good enough distraction to be able to speak freely to their friends again. Enjolras seemed to have a hundred questions when he answered, most of them some kind of iteration of “Are you okay”. Once Jehan had been able to suitably convince him that they weren't in fact in any immediate danger, Enjolras sighed, long and strained.

“You can’t just stop replying after telling Combeferre about a mark of death, Jehan. Not after last time.” 

Jehan’s throat went dry and a lump rose to it, but they didn’t want to abruptly end another call, so they pushed on despite their discomfort. 

“You’re right, that isn’t fair to any of you.”

“Still, I want to make sure you’re alright, and we should talk about the picture you sent to Combeferre.” 

A loud knock on their door made them jump suddenly. Judging by the playful rapture, they somehow doubted it was Montparnasse coming to retrieve his phone.

“Enjolras, did you send someone to check up on me?” Jehan tried to sound annoyed, but a smile had stubbornly made its way to their tone. 

“Yes, and I won’t apologize for doing so.”

Jehan opened the door to find a smiling Grantaire, spinning his car keys on his finger.

“Well now you know I’m alive and well.”

“Told you that you worried too much, Enjolras!” Grantaire shouted so the phone could pick up his voice. “Someone has either skinned them and is wearing a very pretty skin suit, or they’re alive and glaring right at me!”

“Tell Grantaire that’s not funny.” Enjolras said with a huff.

Jehan held back a chuckle, saying goodbye to him and ending the call.

“Well now that I’ve done my due diligence, how ‘bout coming for a drink with me at the Corinth.” Grantaire said so casually it was almost as though the line wasn’t fed to him.

“Cut the bullshit, R.” Jehan said, rolling their eyes and grabbing their keys and wallet from the shelf beside the door, stepping out and locking the door behind them. “Whose waiting to interrogate me there?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Just everybody who worried enough to free up their schedules”

“So, half the group?”

“More or less.”

“I suppose I owe you all the first round in that case.”

“You should ignore our calls more often!” Grantaire laughed, clapping them on the back.

As they departed, Jehan couldn’t help but throw a concerned look over their shoulder to Montparnasse’s door. They briefly considered casting a protection spell above his doorway, but ultimately decided against it. If he was a witch with any sense, he would have done his own castings, and Jehan didn’t want to interfere with anything that had already been placed.

* * *

Courfeyrac pulled them into a tight hug when they arrived, and a tinge of guilt crept into their throat at the worry they’d caused. Not everyone had come, but Enjolras and Combeferre had managed to wrangle Bahorel, Joly and Cosette in addition to Grantaire.

“You know Enjolras, if you want me to become the group’s chauffeur, I’m going to start charging by the minute.” Grantaire said with a sideways smile as he leaned back on his chair, placing two boots on the table, earning him a dirty glare from the waitress at the bar. “Far be it for me to jump at your beck and call without something in return.”

Enjolras ignored him, turning his kind brown eyes to Jehan.

“I know you’ve said you’re okay-”

“-And I am.”

Enjolras’ mouth twitched slightly, holding back his smile. 

“But we still have some questions.”

Jehan sat patiently as they asked them about the night before. It took a while to explain everything, every answer seemed to conjure another question, but eventually they managed to tell the whole story - of how they’d awoken to their spells screaming of an intruder, only to find their neighbour passed out in a bloody heap on their balcony, how they arrived just in time to make out the retreating form of a forbidden entity but couldn’t figure out what was summoned. They explained they had to levitate Montparnasse over to their couch, the injuries he’d attained, and the curses that the entity had left behind.

“What on earth was he doing messing about with forbidden entities?” Courfeyrac asked, curiously.

“He said he was trading a potion, and I guess the person he was selling to jumped him.”

“Do you think he’s lying?” Bahorel asked suspiciously. “I can’t see how bartering could turn into an entity being summoned.”

“Come on, Baz.” Grantaire replied with amusement. “You’ve worked customer service. Don’t tell me you’ve never been tempted to curse some dick who's getting too mouthy.”

“Yeah. Once.  _ You _ .” Bahorel retorted. 

Jehan thought for a moment as they continued to argue back and forth. The thought had definitely occurred to them that Montparnasse wasn’t telling the full story. He seemed to be somebody that survived on charm and half truths. But there was something intuitive telling them that Montparnasse could be trusted, at least at arm's length. 

“I think he was just as surprised as I was.” Jehan said finally. 

“Well I’m sorry he found your balcony.” Cosette said sympathetically. “I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been to see another mark of death.”

This was exactly the pity and worry that Jehan had been trying to avoid. Their friends didn’t need to know about the blood that rushed out of their face at the sight of it, or about the minor panic attack they’d had after removing it. Or how much their fingers were shaking whilst taking a photo of the mark (It was a miracle the photo wasn’t more blurry thinking back on it).

“If it weren’t for the unmistakable energy emitting from it, I wouldn’t have even known it was a mark of death.” Jehan said, trying to sound casual and unbothered. “It wasn’t like…” They swallowed, almost saying  _ mine _ . Instead they pressed on. “It wasn’t like any I’ve ever seen in person or in books.

  
They opened their phone, and passed the image around the table.

Grantaire emitted a low whistle at the sight of it. “Far be it for an amatuer like me to judge another artist's work, but this is the messiest shit I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ll say.” Joly says furrowing his brow and turning the phone over slowly in his hand, as though another angle would make the image clearer. “It almost looks like a spear.”

At that word, Bahorel snatched the phone from Joly, zooming in on the image. “That’s a kontus!” He exclaimed looking around the table with wide eyes.

“A what now?” Joly asked tilting their head and squinting at the photo.

“It’s a Greek spear!” Bahorel explained, looking around the table as though the epiphany he clearly had should have also enlightened them too. He sighed at their confused faces. “Ancient greek witches would paint them on a messenger to declare impending war. My Nonna used to read me the old stories, but nobody has used this kind of symbolism in centuries, it’s outdated. Either your neighbours just the poor sap they needed to use to pass on a message or they’ve seriously pissed someone off.”

“What about your neighbour?” Enjolras asked, his expression guarded,his eyes still kind and gentle. Something that was easy to miss if you hadn’t known him for as long as Jehan had. “What do you know about him?”

“He seems pretty secretive. He never even told me his name, I only found out what it was because I summoned his old neighbour. He’s unregistered and seems to be quite determined to remain that way, his neighbour had no idea he was a witch and she lived next to him for almost a year. He seems to be involved in the underground market.”

“Should we offer him protection?” Cosette asked, looking genuinely concerned for the stranger's wellbeing, as though he was an old friend. It was something that Jehan loved her for. “He won’t have the option to go to the police if he isn’t registered.” Cosette had nervously begun to twist the pendant she cherished so much. It was one her Father had given her long ago. She knew of all the struggles of an unregistered witch on the run despite being registered herself, what with her late Father’s status forcing them to run from city to city for decades. 

Jehan seriously doubted their neighbour would take any protection they offered but decided against saying so. Letting Cosette believe in the power of kindness was not something they ever wanted to take away from her.

“That’s some shady business he’s involved in.” Combeferre said. “Should we even trust someone like that?”

“Does it matter?” Enjolras asked. “It doesn’t matter what he was doing, if there are dark forces being summoned we should try to help them - even if the victim isn’t completely innocent.”

“I could report it to the registry.” Joly said suddenly. The logic wasn’t terrible. As one of the few people in the group who was listed on the registry, there would be no danger of him reporting dark magick and facing the potential repercussions of an investigation. Joly was a registered healer, any knowledge he had of dark magick would be assumed to be something he’d learned about in healing school. It was possibly the lowest risk option if they did decide to report something. “I could say I witnessed it, and keep the details vague. Say I didn’t see what happened to the victim, just the attack?”

“No. No cops.” Enjolras said, shaking his head. “If they’re able to trace the magick back to Jehan’s apartment they’ll be more interested in arresting them then actually bringing anybody responsible to justice.”   
  


“Fucking typical. Blame the Adenia and ignore the real problems.” Bahorel said with contempt, there is a general murmur of agreement, some choice words exchanged about their hatred for the system. Jehan noticed Enjolras was looking at them carefully.

“What would you like to do, Jehan?” He asked kindly.

“You should stay away from that neighbour of yours.” Courfeyrac said in a concerned tone as Combeferre nodded in agreement.

“I can help you move again!” Bahorel said perking up suddenly, as though the offer was akin to offering to taste test brownies. 

“I think…” Jehan said carefully. “That I don’t want to sweep this under the rug. I want to find out who is attacking witches with entities. It’s like Enjolras said, even if they’re selling on the underground network, they deserve just as much justice and protection as the rest of us.”

“If that’s what you want to do, we’ll support you, and we’ll help.” Enjolras said without hesitation. If the group was conflicted by his words, they were hiding it well. 

* * *

The ride home back was unusually quiet, it wasn’t often that Grantaire wasn’t making some kind of noise or movement, whether it be tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, humming along to his playlist, or just filing the time with nonsense sentences, it was unsettling for the air around them to be so still. Even his tattoos remained completely unmoved. Usually bouncing with the same energy Grantaire was channeling. Jehan couldn’t get a read on what Grantaire was currently trying to emit.

“This is probably going to put a damper on my housewarming party.” Jehan said as a way to break the uncomfortable silence. Grantaire’s only response was a non committal hum, his eyes fixed on the road in front of him. 

“Do you think I should extend an invitation to my neighbour?” Jehan asked, goading him for a response.

Grantaire gave them a side eyed glance, before shifting slightly in his seat.

“I know it’s a cliche at this point for me to disagree with everything our fearless leader says-”

“Oh, here we go.” Jehan sighed, resting their chin on their bundled fist.

_ “But _ -” Grantaire said pointedly, ignoring the remark. “I do think you should probably just stay out of this.”

“R, come on.” Jehan looked out of the window at the passing apartments and coffee shops. “I’m not an idiot, you don’t have to tiptoe around the fact that you’re worried about me because of what happened last year. I can look after myself, you know?”

“Well can you really blame us, Jehan?” Grantaire asked, an unfamiliar amount of sincerity in his voice. “I’m not supposed to be the voice of reason here, you’re putting me in a very uncomfortable situation right now.”

“I suppose I can’t.” Jehan paused before sighing, and looking determinedly back at Grantaire. “But I’m not just going to shy away from something just because it’s odd or strange.”

“Odd or strange…” Grantaire repeated with a scoff. “Sure. That’s the problem here.”

“ _ Or _ dangerous.” Jehan insisted defiantly. “Especially if it’s dangerous. I spent the entirety of last year cooped up inside to placate everybody’s concerns and I’m tired of being treated like a porcelain doll. I can have some agency  _ and _ look after myself at the same time.”

Grantaire groaned as he stopped at a red light and banged his head against the wheel. He lifted his green eyes to look at them again, a defeated expression etched on his face.

“We’re not treating you like you’re fragile! If any of our other friends were in your position last year we’d be treating them the same way!”

“And you’re telling me nobody else would want to get back into helping other witches, despite the risks? It’s green by the way.” Jehan pointed to the traffic light.

Grantaire scrambled to switch gears and drive onwards.

“Why does everybody I like have to be so stubborn?” He muttered under his breath.

“Oh yea, because you’re such a pushover yourself.” Jehan said with a snort, lightness returning to their tone as they smiled at him. Grantaire shot them a sideways glance, before sighing and looking determinedly forward.

“Fine. Can you at least let me help you?”

Jehan tried to hide their smile. “This isn’t just an excuse to keep an eye on me is it?”

“Nah, I just don’t want to miss out on any fun.” Grantaire smirked. “But for the record, I am begrudgingly being dragged into helping other people. I’d rather die than see Enjolras’ smug ‘I told you so’ smile. Actually - I might die for real if I had to be subjected to that.”

“Uh huh.” Jehan said with a knowing grin. Grantaire was tapping his steering wheel again, and Jehan couldn’t have been more relieved to see the wine bottle on his neck spill wine into the cup tattooed below it. 

“Know any ways to break into a phone?” Jehan asked after a few moments had passed.

“Now you’re talking.” Grantaire grinned. “Escapades and hijinx are my strong suit.”

“Doesn’t take much to convince you, does it?” Jehan laughed.

“Hey, I tried. If anyone asks I did an extremely convincing speech but alas, you’re an immovable rock who cannot be convinced.”

“Thank you.” Jehan said with genuine gratitude, a weight lifting from their shoulders. As easy as it came it was gone when suddenly, Jehan felt it- a pinch at the back of their neck sending their nerves into a ready state of warning.

“Someones in my apartment.” They gasped. 

“Shit.” Grantaire hissed through gritted teeth, as he scrambled to switch gears, speeding faster than what was legally allowed, passing several cars and emitting beeps and shouts from other motorists. “Grab my sketchbook from the back, the one with the red cover."

_ Breathe. _ Jehan reminded themselves, as they twisted in their seat to grab the red book from a pile on the back seat.

“Flip to the page with the eye and the TV. Maybe a cat got inside?” Grantaire offered as Jehan frantically searched through the pages, but his hand was noticeably tapping anxiously on the gear stick.

“Cats can’t break protective spells.” Jehan said, stopping at a page with an inked and detailed eye of horus, sketched above a rough cartoon looking retro television. 

“No, but familiars can. Here.” Grantaire tossed them one of the several pencils resting on his dashboard. “Draw a summoning circle around the eye, and a knowing circle around the TV.”

Jehan did as they were told, their circles slightly wonky from their shaking hands. When both circles were completed, Grantaire reached over, not taking his eyes off the road, tracing the circles with his finger as though he’d drawn them himself, Jehan was relieved to see his black painted fingers were a lot steadier than their own. 

With a flourish, the eye lifted from the page. Blinking once at Jehan before slipping out of the slightly cracked open window in the passenger seat, floating in the sky as though it was being carried by the wind.

“Watch the page.” Grantaire said as he passed another slow driver, his tires emitting a sharp screech beneath them.

Jehan looked down at the paper, the cartoon TV showing passing buildings, strangers on the street, cars passing by - everything the eye was seeing on its journey to Jehan’s apartment. Jehan watched with bated breath as it slid under the front door and made its way up the stairs to their floor. It reached their doorway, sliding between the cracks. Jehan was only able to see the painting they’d hung in their hallway for a moment before the vision turned red, and then black. The cartoon TV showed static, Jehan gasped with realization.

“Shit. My protective spells! R- I’m so sorry!”

Grantaire glanced down at the blank stretch of paper where the eye used to be, darting to the static lined television, his eyes wide as he put the pieces together.

“Oh no, Eye-saac!” He said, his voice strangely high pitched. 

“I wasn’t thinking. Shit, I’m sorry I should have tried to remove them before we sent anything. I-”

“It’s fine Jehan! I can draw another eye. We’re almost at your place anyway, we’re just going to have to go in blind.”

By the time Grantaire rounded the corner and parked in front of Jehan’s apartment, their nerves were almost shot. Jehan motioned for him to be quiet as they entered the complex and hurried up to Jehan’s floor, they slowed their steps, Jehan felt their heart pounding in their chest as they reached for the handle. Unlocked- just as they’d suspected it would be. Muttering a small spell under their breath to muffle any noises the door would make, Jehan took a deep breath and made their way inside, Grantaire closely followed behind them, his finger ready to summon the inked dagger on his sketchbook.

  
There was a dull thud, followed by a small muttering of swear words that made Jehan stop in their tracks. They  _ knew _ that voice.

  
Turning to Grantaire they motioned wordlessly for him to put his notebook down, Grantaire tilted his head mouthing a confused ‘ _ what? _ ’ but obediently lowered his hand.

“Montparnasse?” Jehan called out, turning the corner into their den and coming face to face with their neighbour dislodging pillows from their couch, at the sight of Jehan, he flinched and looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an incoming semi truck. Jehan relaxed at the sight of him, taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm their adrenaline. Their living room was a mess, Montparnasse had clearly torn apart the room to find his phone.

“I left something behind.” Montparnasse said sheepishly. “It was urgent, I couldn’t wait.”

“Hey, I know you!” Grantaire said suddenly, a wide grin spreading across his face as his eyes shone with amusement. “Aren’t you Eponine’s weed dealer?”

Jehan noticed Montparnasse’s jaw tighten and tick slightly. Clearly uncomfortable at being caught in such a compromising way.

“Yes.” He replied tersely, his dark eyes flickering to the rug on Jehan’s floor. 

“Small world!” Grantaire said with a laugh, he seemed to be the only one in the apartment unaffected by the awkward atmosphere in the air. He was already flicking through the pages of the sketchbook in his hands, stopping on a watercolour of multiple detailed hands and drawing a circle around them.

“Are you looking for your phone?” Jehan asked, changing the subject. “I have it in my bedroom.”

Montparnasse nodded stiffly, and followed wordlessly when Jehan gestured for him to. Grantaire had summoned the painting on his page while they were walking, and as the animated hands picked up the mess that Montparnasse had created and replaced the cushions and placed them neatly back on the couch, he didn’t hesitate to sit down and begin sketching again, the hands working away on the rest of the room as he did so. Seemingly completely uninterested in whatever conversation they were about to have. Sometimes Jehan wished to have his apathy and ease in any given situation.

“It was almost dead last night.” Jehan explained in the most innocent tone they could manage as they opened their bedroom door. “I was going to give it to you when you woke up, but you’d already left.”

“Thanks.” Montparnasse said tensely.

“I actually wanted to ask you some questions.” Jehan said, sitting on their bed and crossing their legs as they passed the phone to Montparnasse. He had clearly taken the time to do some further healing on his injuries at home, the cut that had been so deep on his cheek last night reduced to nothing more than a faded bruise. Something almost unnoticeable if you weren’t looking for it.

“I figured you would.” Montparnasse said with a sigh. “Fine, let’s get this over with.”

Jehan smiled at him, he clearly wasn’t going to make this conversation easy, but Jehan had been prepared for this, suspecting that getting Montparnasse to open up would be harder than opening a tightened lid on a jar of preserves.

“Have you ever dealt with the man you sold your potion to before?” 

“No.” Montparnasse said shortly, crossing his arms. Jehan didn’t let his guardedness rattle them.

“Do you know his name?” 

Montparnasse hesitated. “Yes. Jean-Pierre Charpentière. He’s on the registry.”

Jehan’s eyes shone as they held back a smile. That would be very useful for them to use. “Do you know what kind of witchcraft he does?”

“Bastard shit? I don’t know.” Montparnasse emitted an impatient breath of air out of his nose. “The registrar said he’s been inactive since the 80’s, shows what they know.” Jehan didn’t say anything in return, waiting patiently for him to continue, Montparnasse sighed after a moment. “The registry says he’s a bank manager.” He said resignedly. Jehan thought they sensed a tone of resentment behind his words, as though he was ashamed he’d been taken down by somebody so uninspiring. “You can find the rest on google.” Montparnasse continued, his want for the conversation to be over clear.

Jehan thought over the details Montparnasse had provided, turning them over in their mind, looking at them from all angles and possibilities. 

“I think we should track him down.” They said finally.

“Why?” Montparnasse guarded stillness broke as he scrunched his nose up at the suggestion, a spark of something flashed behind his black eyes. Was it fear? Suspicion? Jehan couldn’t be sure. “It’s just some psycho going through a midlife crisis and taking his wasted life out on others for kicks.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple.” Jehan said, careful not to completely dismiss his words. They went on to explain what the mark of death Montparnasse had represented. By the time they had finished explaining, Montparnasse had gone slightly pale, but his guard had returned, his face unreadable and still. 

“I need to make a phone call.” He said, leaving the bedroom hurriedly without another word.

Jehan sighed. Maybe convincing him to pursue this with them would be harder than they thought. They made their way out to their living room, where Grantaire had his tongue between his teeth and brow furrowed to the page. Jehan sat wordlessly beside him, pondering what their next move would be. Leaving this alone was not an option. They had to know more. Who was this man? Why had he targeted Montparnasse? How had he been a registered witch for so long and not had his dangerous skills ever recorded? They repeated the name over in their mind, but it was almost frustratingly plain and unfamiliar.

“There.” Grantaire said suddenly, snapping Jehan out of their thoughts as he turned the sketch page towards them, showing another eye of horus, this one a lot rougher than its predecessor .

“It’s Eye-saac 2: electric boogaloo.” He said proudly, Jehan replied with an amused smile. “He’s a lot more rowdy than his Father was, plays by no man's rules! A loveable rogue with a heart of gold.”

“Much like you?” Jehan asked with a raised brow.

“Hell no, my heart is cold and dead.” Grantaire said defiantly. “No man or God can make it bleed.”

“Sure, R.” Jehan replied in an unconvinced tone. Just as they were about to ask him why he surrounded himself with so many bleeding hearts if his was as cold as stone, they were interrupted by a short, quiet knock on the door. Jehan muttered an incarnation as they stared down the hallway, and the door opened wide.

Montparnasse stepped into their apartment, his expression conflicted and wary. He seemed to be struggling with something in his own mind, choosing his words carefully before his eyes met Jehan’s. That’s when Jehan could see it beneath the blacks of his irises- Montparnasse was scared. But when he spoke, his voice was steady and determined.

“Is your offer to track that bastard down still on the table?”

Jehan smiled back at him and nodded. The white scars on their arm seemed to itch under their sweater. Anticipation or a warning? They could never tell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly the most unrealistic thing about this magic!AU is that someone has a phone that matches another persons charging cable.


	3. Beyond the Veil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Montparnasse makes a phone call to an old acquaintance, Jehan makes a call to the afterlife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I was so focused on getting my other WIP up and rolling this one sat half finished for a while. 
> 
> Anyways enjoy!

Jehan's words hit Montparnasse like a dagger, although they didn’t need to know why a kontus symbol was significant, they had clearly noticed his change in demeanor when mentioning the word. Noticing this, Montparnasse made sure to keep his face blank after the brief slip of shock. Inwardly, all he felt was rage. Rage and shame that after all of this time he still could not shake his past. He had to leave now before Jehan could see his mask slip further. Exiting with the excuse of a phone call, he left quickly, his vision tunnelled and dark, the short walk into his apartment door almost a blur.

A long time ago he had learned to manifest fear and betrayal into rage. At the time it was a necessity to do so, a pure instinct born out of the needs for his survival. Now it was second nature. The world was not made for him, since he was born it had wanted him dead and he was still here today purely to spite it. He revelled in the world hating him now, it drove him forwards. It made him pleased to know that he was not so easily dragged down and defeated.

But sometimes that spite and anger could not be contained, and as he locked the door behind him he knew he had mere seconds before it rose again. The spell he chanted was muscle memory to his tongue whenever he got like this, providing a barrier from the noise he was about to emit, nobody had any right to his anger and he made sure they would not be able to hear it as he finished his incantation. 

It came almost the moment he had cast it  — the rage he couldn’t control, the type that had gotten him in so many terrible situations when he was young and reckless. In his darkest moments, he’d hope it would consume him and all of those around him too.  _ The scream of a woman, a knife being pulled, the tiny basement apartment door. Cornered and desperate. Cops surrounding the small basement door. It didn’t even have a keychain. They didn’t need to kick it down. Passionflower. Passionflower, that boy is a Passionflower.  _ It all came back to him when he screamed a primal shout of fury and heartbreak as the vines emerged from his fingertips, as his body surrounded him in thorns and thistles, as the plants he’d grown to hate so much enveloped everything in his apartment until all that remained was the dark shadows of the cocoon he had crafted in his animosity.

It was quick, and terrible, but it was over. It used to last for hours but somehow he’d learned over time to contain it into one quick, intense and painful burst. Out of breath, he did what he always did and cast the spell to burn the evidence. Slowly they wilted and came to ash all around him, his apartment coated in a white and black snow. It had taken him three years to learn how to rid of it with a simple incantation, and he said it aloud to erase any trace that his outburst had ever occurred. 

His apartment had been surrounded by greenery, then fire, then ash, then back to how it was supposed to be seen by strangers all within the span of minutes. He felt himself drained and wrecked, but it was still a better feeling than when he used to have to come to terms with the aftermath  _ and _ clean it up without the aid of magick. Lifting himself from the place he had sunken on the floor, he ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back into a neat position.

His rage was still simmering, but controlled now. He did with his leftover anger what he always did  — tucked it away for a time when he would need it, and that time was not now. No  — now he needed strategy and charm. His talents lay in the shadows of indecency and it's where he'd find the secrets of the night. 

Best to play at an advantage when the odds were stacked against him.

He’d told Jehan he needed to make a phone call, and a phone call he would make.

“Yeah?” Her voice came through his speaker's curt and annoyed, and the normalcy of that made him calmer.

"Your friend that you smoke with, you never told me his tattoos move when in the company of witches," Montparnasse kept his words smooth and non accusatory. All implications and insinuation, it was the way they always talked to each other. When he was younger he would have called it flirting, now they both knew better and called it familiar.

"You never asked." Eponine replied coolly. 

Since they had known each other, they had let one another keep certain secrets, they never took offence to things discovered they had left unsaid because they both knew there were always ten stories behind the secret, and ten secrets behind a story. It was not only a staple of their closeness to keep some elements of themselves completely in the dark, it was necessary for it to survive.

"How many of his friends are witches too?" Montparnasse asked. 

"Oh God. Don't tell me you've somehow gotten yourself involved with Les Amis De L’ABC?" Eponine groaned.

Montparnasse frowned at the horrid pun of a name. It didn’t surprise him that Jehan would be drawn to something so gauche.

"On a very removed level and certainly not by choice," Montparnasse replied defensively. "I’m curious, are they the kind to rat to the registry?"

She snorted at this. "The opposite entirely. If they find out you're not registered they're more likely to take you in the middle of the night and bundle you in a stupid layer of protection and annoying codependent friendship to keep it that way." There was something in the vague fondness she tried to hide from her tone that told him she knew this fact from personal experience. He had wondered how she had been occupying her time in the month since she had left Patron Minette for good. Maybe she had finally found proper friends and outgrown the need for him.

“I have an unrelated favour to ask.” He said quickly, brushing the thought away.

“I’m trying to stay out of trouble,” Eponine had tried to sound dismissive, but Montparnasse could sense there was a hesitance behind it. 

“No trouble. Promise,” he reassured her, putting on his best sweet sounding smile. “I need you to contact Gueulemer and ask for a job.”

“I told you a month ago, I’m out of that life,” Whatever hesitance she had before was gone completely now. Her tone was cold and harsh. Clearly the disownment from her father was sticking this time. “I’m not taking any more underground jobs, no matter the money.”

“I’m not asking you to take the job, I just need you to pass on to me whatever details they give you about it. You can reject it the moment you forward me the information.”

“Why don’t you do your own dirty detective work?” Eponine countered.

“Because,” Montparnasse said, trying to keep the aggravation out of his tone and his voice steady. “Gueulemer may think I’m dead, and by asking for another job I’ll be definitively confirming that I’m not. That’s a pretty good way to turn up dead for good.”

Eponine was silent on the other end of the line. After a few tense moments he heard her mutter, “this is the exact kind of shit that made me quit.” She sighed, long, hard, and world weary. “Fine. But you owe me after this.”

“I can pay you-”

“I don’t want your money,” She spat the words out in distaste, ending the call without another word.

Montparnasse knew he should not hold her bitter sharp edge against her, not when he mirrored it with one of his own. Still  — he cared for her and it cut him to hear. Deeper than he would ever admit to anyone or himself. She had finally grown to despise the cruel life she had lived for so long, and with that came contempt for him too. It was inevitable, but it still stung.

Minutes that felt like hours later his phone rang again.

“Five thousand for one job,” Eponine sounded stunned. “Necromancy for a dead pet.”

“ _ Hellhound _ .” Montparnasse hissed with a grim memory.

“No,” Eponine corrected, “a raven.”

“That’s not a pet,” Montparnasse said, perplexed and angry. “That’s a symbol of death. Why so much money?”

“I don’t know… He mentioned he’s short on people right now. Apparently Claquesous was arrested last night, but he didn’t mention you. Still  —  five thousand...”

“Don’t take it Ep. Reject it.  _ Now. _ Something rotten is going on.” 

“I know, I know-” Eponine said uncertainly at first, then firmer the next time. -“I just- I never got that kind of money with dad, or now...”

“Eponine,  _ promise _ me you won’t take this job.” 

“Of course not,” she said quickly, and he was able to breathe again. “I’ve been around long enough to know there’s no such thing as easy money. I'm just pissed it was offered.”

“Did you get a name for the guy requesting the job?” Montparnasse said urgently.

“Hold on, he texted it to me. I’ll send it in a message.”

“Okay.” He was about to hang up when he heard her voice from the palm of his hand, “-Parnasse?” She was asking his name, softer than she usually did.

“Yeah?” He asked, bringing the phone back to his ear impatiently.

“Just  — be safe.”

A part of Montparnasse wanted to thank her, or urge her to be as well, but the instinct within him to hold everyone at an arm's length suddenly reared its head, and like the beast it was it swallowed the other part of him whole. He left the call without further comment.

Minutes later, Eponine sent a name and nothing else, and Montparnasse knew he would begrudgingly have to ask Jehan for help.

* * *

“A bank manager and an IT contractor,” Jehan said bewildered ten minutes later. “What’s the connection here? Just their registrar status?”

They had been staring at the registrar on Jehan’s laptop on the counter ever since Montparnasse had explained what Eponine had told him, he had made sure to leave out her name, just in case she had any real intentions of sticking around these people, he didn’t want to muddy her chances with his involvement.

“Boring office hacks tired of their meaningless existence finally seeking utter chaos to make up for lost time?” Grantaire offered where he had splayed himself out on the couch.

“They did both practice at one point,” Jehan said slowly. “How often do they audit inactive witches?”

“Four times a year for the first ten years, and then once every year after until the day you die,” Montparnasse told them, on seeing the surprised and curious look on Jehan’s face he changed the subject. “More concerning is the animal thing in my opinion.”

“It is peculiar.”

“You said you do seances? I need to speak to someone who's dead.”

“Aaaand that’s my cue to leave,” Grantaire said, suddenly rising from the couch with a harsh grunt. “I prefer to not to peer beyond the veil when there is life outside to be living.”

“He doesn’t want to believe in an afterlife,” Jehan explained with a roll of their eyes. 

“Don’t misquote me, Jehan. A man like me can only rely on the validity of their past words and I never said that. I merely think that some things in this life should remain dead and other things should remain a mystery until we reach the great beyond. Let people who aren’t mere mortals sort out the details, let us speculate and debate until the end of time. It's more fun that way,” He gave his friend a parting kiss on both cheeks. “I don’t like spoilers; in books, in movies, in life, or in death. See you around.”

There was an awkward air between them without the buffer of another's company in the room. Montparnasse shifted uncomfortably, suddenly finding it hard to think of a sentence.

"I umm- I don't usually do seances for an audience," Jehan said uncertainly, rubbing the nape of their neck. "I find most people are more willing to connect if they don't feel put on display."

"He won't agree to connect if it's just you," Montparnasse shook his head. "He probably won't even talk to me but I have to ask."

Jehan pondered for a second, their expression unsure. 

"Have you witnessed a seance before? A proper magick one? It's not how they make it seem in films, it can bring out the worst or best elements of the person who is called. It can be very ugly or very intimate, depending on their soul."

"I doubt he is capable of being intimate." Montparnasse said coldly. "I don't frighten easily if that's your concern."

"Okay, come back in an hour. I need to set up " Jehan decided after a moment. "Who do you want to call?"

"An old enemy, I'm afraid." Montparnasse relied grimly.

"That's all good for flavour," Jehan said with an amused smile. "But I actually need a name."

An hour later they were sitting on a summoning rug in the middle of Jehan’s living room, the curtains drawn, candles lit, and a plethora of items around them that Montparnasse could only assume were vital to the calling process. He himself had never dipped his feet into this particular branch of magick, preferring those dead to stay that way, but Jehan seemed energized and calm by it, as though they were in their comfort zone. Montparnasse took an uneasy seat on the floor opposite them. Crossing his legs and ignoring the discomfort in his healing one that this action caused.

“Are you ready?” Jehan asked him, the flickering flame of the candles around them lighting up their eyes.

Montparnasse nodded stiffly. Jehan nodded back, before lifting their eyes to the ceiling, a roll of parchment in one hand open and facing upwards, and a candle in the other.

“Old Gods of divine finality, I seek you in a quest for knowledge beyond this realm!” Montparnasse found himself slightly taken aback by the power in their voice. “There is an offering on my alter, please take it in exchange for a request. Take this name on this parchment, and reach beyond the veil to call to them. Take my body as a vessel for their voice!”

Suddenly a wind entered the room, cold and harsh with the scent of death, the candle flames bent with the arrival. The parchment burned and curled into itself in one palm while the flame extinguished in the other. Jehan’s body stilled and their eyes rolled back into their head, their body began to shake uncontrollably. If they had not warned Montparnasse this was all part of the process before this, he would have been worried, still even with the warning he couldn’t help but be disturbed by the visual. Suddenly it stopped, and the candles flames burned brighter, Jehan’s eyes rolled back to face him and met Montparnasse with a cold glint. Montparnasse knew at that point he had answered the call.

"Monsieur," the snide smile that etched into Jehan's face as the soul took over their body and voice was harrowing. Uncanny in its expression of the person it was bringing back, but disturbing on a face that didn't suit it. "Imagine my surprise to see a dead man calling me from life."

It was just as Montparnasse had expected it would be, not intimate in the slightest and very ugly. The sharp inclinations and mannerisms didn't suit Jehan's face, and made them appear rougher, something that did not suit their sunshine features.

"Hello Inspector Javert," Montparnasse said calmly. It was strange to say this to Jehan's face, but Montparnasse was determined to remain unflinching. He didn't want to give Javert the satisfaction of irking him.

"What sin did you commit that you felt the need to pull me from death?" There was something off about Jehan’s voice, as though the echo of Javert’s own voice snatched their verbatim and closed around their voice box.

"I have a question for you," Montparnasse waited for the inspector to reply, to tell him he would rather die again than tell scum like him anything, but when he remained silent he continued. "When you arrested me and tried to put me on the register, there was a man I shared a cell with. One who drew a kontos on the wall and blew half your station sky high. I need to know  —  who was that man?"

If Javert was surprised by this question, Jehan's face did not show it.

"We never got his name, he went by a moniker as types like that usually do  —  The Raven, if I remember. It's a harder time recalling when the names of the officers who died in the blast took priority in my memory, although  _ you’d _ know all about not giving true names. Yours was supposed to be on the casualty list too, if you had given it before the explosion. You can imagine my surprise when I came to die and you were nowhere to be seen."

"I got lucky," Montparnasse said coldly. Truthfully he had gotten angry, and that was the only thing that had saved him, his rage cocoon shielding him from the blast as it devastated a building and several lives.

"And you proceeded to make a lucky break knowing that nobody chases a dead man." Javert sounded more annoyed than impressed.

" _ You  _ should recall I was not a man at the time." Montparnasse said with venom on his tongue. "You called me  _ boy _ , after all."

"Ah yes, what were you? 15? 16? Hard to tell when you wouldn't give us your information." 

"Young enough to not know any better but old enough to face the full extent of the law for my actions.  _ Your _ words, not mine." He was well aware he was getting off track, but he couldn't stop the anger that he'd held inside him for so long. Jehan's face sneered at this, an ugly expression that did not flatter their features. Montparnasse hoped to never see that look pass over their face again.

"We prosecute as though you were an adult until you were willing to tell us otherwise. But you weren't. Why did you really call me here? Feeling sentimental? Or are you trying to figure out how to play with dark Magick?"

"The opposite, I'm trying to avoid it at all costs."

"That's the only smart thing you've said in our many conversations. If that's all-"

"-did the man have any connections with a hellhound?"

A frown took to Jehan's face as they blinked and shook their head.

"Not in the literal sense. Although I'm sure I don't need to tell you that that crowd deals in criminal languages to communicate."

"It's a code word?" Montparnasse said with surprise.

"Could be, I never was able to determine its meaning."

Montparnasse was disappointed at this, but not entirely surprised.

"I can't say it's been nice to see you again," Montparnasse said resentfully. "Have a pleasant death, Inspector."

"I would say to have a pleasant life, but knowing the paths you take, I believe you'll make that entirely impossible for yourself."

The energy shifted within the room as a cold wind extinguished the candles around them. Jehan shuddered, and came back into their body. Montparnasse was relieved to see their kind brown eyes behind their face. 

“Montparnasse,” they said, eyes worried and slightly out of breath. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” Montparnasse asked calmly, rising to his feet and adjusting the sleeve of his leather jacket. “It worked.”

“For what they did to you trying to put you on the registry  —  no child should be thrown in jail for being a witch.”

Montparnasse stilled at this, he had assumed that when Javert took over Jehan’s body he would take over their mind too, not that Jehan would be a witness to their conversation in some kind of projection above them. He felt a coldness overtake him, the one that always came when people tried to get to close or look to him in pity.

“It’s fine, “ he lied. “I’m alive aren’t I? I can deal with this from now on, thank you for your help.”

“I can help more,” Jehan said quickly, rising to their feet too. Montparnasse’s mind immediately and harshly pushed back on this idea. 

“No offence, Jehan but I don’t believe I’ll need the services of the dead anymore.” He was almost at the door, he just needed to make a quick escape and find a way to never speak to them again. They had already gotten to know too much about him.

“It’s not just me,  my friends would be happy to help you too. Whatever it is, it’s smarter to face it with people behind you. I told you I’m opposed to the registry. I’m not alone in that. There is a whole community of adenia and registered witches alike that want it abolished and work very hard to protect the people who can’t be on it. People just like you. You don't have to fight for the right to exist alone, we can help you."

"I don't need your help anymore, and I certainly don't need some fake progressive passionflower community to protect me," Montparnasse spit out the words as though they were poison on his tongue as he threw open Jehan’s door. “I’ve made it this far in life without any help and I intend to keep it that way.”

If Jehan was hurt by this they were good at hiding it, their face stayed determined.

"Well I do need them," Jehan said proudly. "And I don't think there's anything wrong with needing to ask for help occasionally." They looked at him firmly and with deliberate kindness. "I'll still be here if you ever need mine."

He had no time to simmer as he slammed the door behind him, the moment he was in his apartment he knew there was something wrong. His protective spells gone, his apartment containing someone other than him.

In the corner in his chair sat the shadow of his intruder, they lit a cigarette, the basking glow from the lighter ignition revealing their face in a golden hue.

"Claquelous," Montparnasse was surprised, but relieved at their presence. Claquelous was a person of many faces, but when they spoke to Montparnasse alone, their illusionist mask of a thousand identities was allowed to slip, and they showed their true face to him. "I heard a rumour you were locked up."

"They can never keep me long," they replied with a slow drag of their cigarette. "So much bureaucratic confusion and mishaps when a face doesn't match a name or a gender. I thrive in the chaos of it all."

"Why are you here?" Montparnasse asked carefully. Trust between them came with the knowledge that it could only be tethered for so long in their profession. He hoped they weren't, but couldn't rule out the possibility of their involvement. If they were somehow a part of this too, he didn't think he'd stand a chance to survive another night.

"I came to warn you," Clacquelous replied. "There's a price on your head and mine, some of the others as well."

"I'm painfully aware."

"I figured you might be, you're still alive after all."

"Is Gueulemer thick as shit or is he willingly leading us to slaughter?"

"Can't be too sure at this stage, either would be within his wheelhouse. But that's not the only reason I'm here. There's something else you should know."

"Tell me."

"The girl who made the dramatic exit a month ago, the one you have a soft spot for- "

Montparnasse felt a dread overtake him.

"Eponine?" he hated how small his voice sounded, even here amongst the company of the closest thing he had to a friend.

"The ones that are seeking us have her," Clacquelous dropped their cigarette into a mug beside them, emitting a sizzle as the ember hit the shallow liquid. "Her brother too. I saw it happen only minutes ago. They took her to the corner building in the annex. I thought you might be interested to know _ before _ she turns up dead as opposed to after."

Montparnasse closed his eyes as he pinched his nose in frustration and dread. Eponine was no damsel in distress, she could certainly hold her own, but these witches had power that Montparnasse had seen only once before, and even she would have a hard time fighting that off. When he opened them again, Clacquelous was gone, disappeared as though they never were, another favour he owed them added to the pile, and Montparnasse was left completely alone, and in desperate need of help.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you want to read more and your thoughts/opinions. I am a slut for validation


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